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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777413">The Hound and the Mutt</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basalit_an/pseuds/Basalit_an'>Basalit_an</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Agnes Grey - Anne Bronte, Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crossover, F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:41:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,995</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777413</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basalit_an/pseuds/Basalit_an</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>James Moreland's heart was greatly wounded by Isabella Thorpe that spring. By the fall, he had found another young lady to love. Unfortunately, he has not learned to distrust John Thorpe. Meanwhile, Matilda Murray, now twenty, is brought to Oxford to find a good match. Although she has ample choice, she finds amusement in only two gentlemen in town. </p><p>A crossover sequel between Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey and Anne Bronte's Agnes Grey.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oxford, 17 September</p><p>My dearest Catherine—</p><p>I must give you my deepest congratulations that the General has at last approved of your marriage to Mr. Tilney. The odd strokes of your last several letters betrayed your nerves, sister. Certainly, nothing gets past me! And you can be sure that while you were in anticipation, I would never tease you about your trembling pen. But now that we have received such happy news, I may be allowed to fulfill this particular duty of an elder brother!</p><p>But you must excuse me if I keep the news to myself. To be sure, Mr. John Thorpe still seems wounded by your rejection. And you need not repeat what you have related to me countless times, sister. I know it was truly a misunderstanding between you, for he does love to speak, and you love to listen. I know I have mentioned before that you ought to speak a little more clearly, so I shall not tread that territory again. I can imagine the look you’re giving me right now! </p><p>Indeed, you may be wondering why I still associate with Thorpe considering that awful business with Isabella this past spring. Well, I shall tell you that Thorpe is as good a friend to me as Miss Tilney is to you, as you have described to me before. Whatever ignobility has corrupted his sister has not marred his good character, I can assure you. By the bye, I have heard that Isabella was recently married to a certain Northern tradesman. By God, I may indeed be preserved from her company forever, while still being able to maintain that treasured friendship with the brother. </p><p>To this end, I accompanied Thorpe and some other friends of ours to the assembly rooms at Carfax. Now I have been hesitant to enter into general society after Isabella, as to be sure, my heart was wounded after that affair. And Thorpe, certainly in concern of my wellbeing, has remained rather distant since the beginning of the term. However, he at last approached me with this scheme, and I was happy to accept. Of course, this late in the season, there is not much in the way of society to be found. Most of the London company has retired to the country by this time of year. However, I was fortunate to make the acquaintance of a particularly lovely young lady by the name of Miss Matilda Murray. </p><p>Catherine, I do believe this young lady may be the balm for my wounded heart. When she smiles, the world seems brighter. She is all sweetness and elegance, not at all like the coquetry of Isabella Thorpe. We danced together for two dances at the assembly, after which she regretted that she had to leave for the evening. But by God! I met her again the following week, hoping to press my luck at the assembly rooms. I had prayed that she had not left town, and I felt the luckiest man in the world when I caught sight of her fine eyes and flaxen hair. She danced with me again, and again she had to leave right away after. Despite our short meetings, I come away from Miss Murray light in spirit. Even Thorpe likes her, which is always a boon to the prospects of a proper lady. He and I return to the assembly rooms tonight, and if Miss Murray is found there, I shall take it as a sign from God that I may yet hope to love once again. </p><p>Do give my regards to your betrothed. A winter wedding will be quite charming!</p><p>Your most affectionate brother,<br/>James Moreland</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oxford, 20 September</p><p>Miss Grey,</p><p>I am sure this letter may come as a surprise to you. You’ve not heard from me in four years! I cannot even be certain if the address Rosalie gave me is accurate. You know how Lady Ashby can be. To think she has corresponded with you this whole time with hardly a word to me about it. What a sister she is.</p><p>Although Rosalie is quite settled with her Sir Thomas, Mother has only become more troubled that I remain free from such matrimonious joy. I suppose a daughter of twenty unmarried is quite the embarrassment for her. I, of course, am to blame, as are you, Miss Grey. After all, the men back home still recall me as the coarse, boyish little girl who preferred dogs to people. If you, Mother says, had been even a halfway decent governess, you would have scrubbed that coarseness from me long before anyone could have ever blamed me for the behavior. Mrs. Younge, your replacement, seems to have satisfied Mother as to my behavior. You would not recognize me for the world, Miss Grey! I have learned all the right and proper ways of walking, sitting, speaking, and pretending. I can almost charm as well as Rosalie now, and if the gentlemen of Horton had not such firm memories, I imagine I could have gotten one of them by now. </p><p>As it is, this is not the case. Mother has decided to bring me to Oxford, perhaps on the small chance that I may catch the eye of the studious youths here. It is rather odd, as it is so late in the year, and the air has started to turn chill. The assemblies are not very populated. Perhaps that is Mother’s design: I have very little competition. Every evening in the company of these intellectual elite gets a little easier to manage.</p><p>My one duty and task is to find a mate here, but I must confess, Miss Grey, that for all their elegant and learned words, these men simply bore me to tears. They have a great joy for sitting and a greater distaste for dancing or walking. I find some dance partners, but they are rare and poor in form. If this is the prowess of an intellect, then I should wish only to have a dullard for a husband. </p><p>And so it is to you, Miss Grey, that I shall report of my endurance of this place. Rosalie has her daughter to fill her time, and I take no pleasure in her words anyway. I always enjoyed vexing you, Miss Grey, and so I hope that my letters will annoy and distress enough to keep us both entertained! I did so regret when you left us at Horton. Mrs. Younge was a stark governess, cold and heartless, and she was only ever interested in molding me into another Rosalie to please my mother. She would never entertain me as you did, and she was entirely impossible to tease. </p><p>Since I am a proper young lady now, I shall bid you adieu until I have something more interesting to tell you about. Don’t expect it to be of a man, lest he allow me to chase his dogs around the university green. </p><p>Yours most affectionately, <br/>Matilda Murray</p><p>P.S.: I do realize you have not been Miss Grey for some time but rather Mrs. Edward Weston. But I cannot bear to think of you as Mrs. Weston. It reminds me of all those Sundays in church when I would watch you trying to hide your blush whenever Mr. Weston would look toward our pew. How insufferable it was to watch you in love. Somehow you took out the pleasure of even that! </p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oxford, 7 October</p>
<p>My most affectionate sister—</p>
<p>The weeks which have passed have entirely healed me from that awful business in Bath this past spring. Thorpe and I are once again thick as thieves, and I have enjoyed his easy company just as much as I had long before I ever met that artful, callous sister of his. We do not speak of her. He has never mentioned her, and I believe it is in respect to my feelings. Thorpe is quite sensitive to these matters, as you may recall. But he may speak of her all he wishes now!</p>
<p>I have met Miss Murray at Carfax twice per week, and we have danced together at least once and sometimes twice at every meeting. She is the most charming creature I have ever known. She is entirely genuine, unlike my friend’s sister. I am almost thankful I have met such a horrid woman, for now I have a basis on which to judge the character of other ladies in my path. And against such a repulsive person, Miss Murray appears as a saint! </p>
<p>By her own report, Miss Murray told me she is from a village called Horton, which is located not far from Oxford. By Thorpe (you know, my dear, how he has a talent for gathering information) I have learned that she is the youngest daughter of a very rich family indeed. Her elegant manner and air speak to her good breeding. At the risk of insulting my dear friend, I must justify my relief at this report. It is not that I value her money or her status for their own sake, but I do believe the lowliness of the Thorpe family is what possessed Isabella to pursue other more well-endowed families than ours. Miss Murray has no temptation to this end, for she already possesses all the comforts money could provide. </p>
<p>Thorpe himself approves of Miss Murray. He has called her “quite charming” and “pleasantly handsome”. He has, as a great favor to me, spoken to Miss Murray of my greatest virtues while they dance together at the assemblies, and I believe his reports as to my character and tastes have endeared her to me. She often looks quite pleased to see me every time we meet. I am fortunate to have such an amiable friend who possesses such a talent for speech as Thorpe does. </p>
<p>At his excellent suggestion, we shall call upon Miss Murray this week. I should like to invite her out for a walk on the greens, as the weather is sure to be quite well.  I shall write to you of this meeting, should it go favorably. </p>
<p>Graciously,<br/>James Moreland.</p>
<p>P.S.: How awful of me to entirely forget to acknowledge your news of a settled date for your wedding! Spring is far more agreeable for a wedding than winter. Be sure, I shall not forget it.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oxford, 10 October</p>
<p>Dear Miss Grey,</p>
<p>The days stretch on in Oxford. It has rained most of the time. I have seen the assembly rooms on several streets, and I have taken tea with prominent families. I have met many a promising son, either on the track towards academic greatness, in training for the clergy, or otherwise occupied by some manner of bustling business speculation. Mother has grown impatient with me several times over the course of our weeks here, yet she will not take us home yet. I suppose that is because I have made the acquaintance of several young suitors in whom Mother sees some potential. </p>
<p>Now there are two young men who have brought me some entertainment. I shall not give you too many details as to their person, for I believe Mother reads these letters. She was quite cross with me for several days after I sent off my first letter to you. I shall call these gentlemen by coded names: Mr. Well-Read and Mr. Well-Fed. </p>
<p>Mr. Well-Read is a very pleasing sort of man. He speaks when you speak to him, and he remains silent if you choose to refrain from speaking. He follows directions well, and is more than satisfied in fetching a glass of wine or in performing some favor. He is pleasingly useful. Were I Rosalie, I would have claimed him to impart all my flirtations on, for I imagine he would be amusing to crush in that cruel way Rosalie enjoyed. I, however, am not so cruel. I have enjoyed his company.</p>
<p>Mr. Well-Fed is a total blockhead. He stumbles through dance and conversation with equal blunder. He seems easily distracted; several times I have stood up with him, and have turned to him to make some comment or another, only to find he had disappeared from my side. This has even happened while he was in the midst of a sentence! His manners can only be described as coarse, even rough. He is not so well-bred as he attempts to seem. </p>
<p>Mr. Well-Read is a loyal hound, one which would be prized and valued by its master. But its master must be equally worthy of it and understand how to use it. Mr. Well-Fed is a mutt, hardly suited to catching rats, and who would easily confuse one master for another without proper training up. </p>
<p>I believe I can hear your thoughts here, Miss Grey. “Miss Matilda, you must marry a man, not a dog.” Ah, but you know which of these creatures I prefer, do you not?</p>
<p>Most amused,<br/>Matilda Murray </p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oxford, 25 October</p><p>My dearest, closest friend and sister—</p><p>What wonder I have left you in since my last letter. You must no doubt be wondering as to how our call to Miss Murray had gone, as it seems to have been quite some time. Worry not, for it did not go unfavorably! Rather, the weather had put us off for an extended period, but by the end of the week, we were blessed by a day of sunshine. </p><p>Thorpe and I called on Miss Murray, and we were received quite happily. I met her mother, who I had been introduced to at the rooms at Carfax, but who now I was able to properly meet. She is a lovely woman, quite elegant and certainly had been a beauty in her day. Miss Murray looks little like her mother, but they both possess that easy, relaxed charm of accomplished ladies. </p><p>We passed a quarter-hour in conversation. I had been rather tired from studies, and so I was glad to have my friend with me, for I believe Thorpe never tires of conversation! However, the sunshine, which as I had said before had been seldom that week, tempted all of us out of doors, and so we took a walk down to the university parks to walk along the green. </p><p>The exercise and sunshine energized me, and so I walked beside Miss Murray to continue the conversation. I learned that she had a sister already married and two brothers who were still at school. I told her of you, my favorite sister, and of our family, which she appeared keenly interested in. I imagine you will love her just as another sister, Catherine. Miss Murray is everything that is goodness and pleasantness. </p><p>Our walk was momentarily interrupted by a shower. I had brought an umbrella with me, and the foresight was a blessing, for I was able to offer protection to Miss Murray. However, she was not at all bothered by rain! Instead her modest smile became a great grin, lighting up her handsome face, and before Thorpe and I could speak, Miss Murray took off at a run across the green!</p><p>Thorpe was quite amused, and he quickly followed after her. I could hear his pealing laughter as I hurried after them. As you know, Thorpe has always been a heartier lad than myself, and he caught up to Miss Murray some time before I did. They had taken shelter under a gazebo, and were laughing together merrily when I joined them. </p><p>The rain cleared within moments, and we dutifully delivered Miss Murray back to her mother. Mrs. Murray expressed some disapproval over the three of being wet from the rain and admonished me for not employing the umbrella in my hand. However, Miss Murray defended me by stating that a gust of wind had made the use of an umbrella impossible. </p><p>I came away from this meeting with such deep affection for Miss Murray that I have hardly been able to focus on any other thing. This is so different from Isabella, you must understand. I was infatuated with Isabella, but I am so deeply in love with Miss Murray. </p><p>I have not spoken of my feelings to Thorpe. I am quite anxious to do so, as I do not want him to become despondent. I will not, however, be able to keep it a secret from him for long. My heart bursts with this tender love for Miss Murray, and I know I’ll not be able to hide it long. I can only pray and hope for his support. </p><p>I aim to my make intentions known to Miss Murray soon. I have sent a letter to Father about my intentions. I know he will be skeptical about this match considering what had happened this spring, and so I will need you to vouch for me, my dearest sister. I know you have not met Miss Murray, but I can assure you that she is the best example of your sex. </p><p>I shall ride up to Fullerton following my securing Miss Murray. I shall look forward to my visit, dearest sister!</p><p>Yours most affectionately, <br/>J.M. </p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oxford, 29 October</p><p>Dear Miss Grey,</p><p>If I had known it would rain this often in Oxford, I would have remained in Horton. I despise this place. I despise the muddy streets which are never clean, even after a rain. I hate the stone buildings which seem to crowd you in on every street. I hate the assembly rooms and the tea rooms and all the other rooms I have been confined to in this damn place. </p><p>Forgive me for such an intense expression, but the weeks have gone long here. Any time I wish to walk, it rains. When I wish to stay home, I am bid to attend my mother to the assembly rooms. It is a damn nuisance!</p><p>I have since come to look forward to any visits from Mr. Well-Read and Mr. Well-Fed. Several young gentlemen have called upon me, but these two are the most interesting. I do not often see them together anymore; sometimes Mr. Well-Read is busy with studies, and sometimes Mr. Well-Fed has other matters which take his attention. Mother favors Mr. Well-Read the most out of the pair, but I believe she would prefer I choose anyone else in the city than these two. </p><p>When Mr. Well-Read visits me, we pass the time either in conversation or in some sort of amusement. His inclination, as you might imagine, is to stay indoors and read. However, he does enjoy riding about in his gig, and it takes very little to convince him to take me for a drive about the muddy streets. </p><p>Mr. Well-Fed’s visits are much different. He despises staying inside when the weather is fine and has no interest in reading at all. Much of the time, he will not even come inside at all, but beckon me outside from his own gig, often with a “Hey-day, Miss Murray!” and a great laugh. Mother does not approve of this manner, but I have no care to that. My outings with him always produce some sort of amusement. Mr. Well-Read takes me on safe drives around the block or to the university parks. Mr. Well-Fed, however, has taken me to all sorts of places around the city. Every so often, he gets an idea in his head out of the blue to drive out to Milton Keynes or Bristol for a day trip, and he assures me his gig and horse can easily make the trip no matter how late in the day it is and how far his imagined destination may be. It seems to be bravado, however: once, I agreed to one of his schemes with encouraging enthusiasm. The day was young, the destination not unreasonably far, and I was long ready to leave this stone city for a while. Mr. Well-Fed was quite pleased with my agreeability, but soon talked himself out of the scheme with nary a single syllable from myself. He commented happily on the time and the fair weather, bid me to observe the stoutness of his horse, made comment on a number of other horses in his possession (a topic he has discussed before, and which I have managed to contribute in the past), and then, interrupting his own thoughts, recalled he had to meet a friend about the purchase of a rifle, suggested we leave immediately from that appointment, and then, with a glance to the sky which had not changed, stated he knew it was to rain, and the scheme was decidedly put off. </p><p>Now, to address the concern of your last letter, Miss Grey, I will say I have no intention of accepting either gentleman at all. Mr. Well-Read is a kind if naïve sort of young man, the proper sort who would suit one of the other young ladies back home. Oh Hell, he would suit YOU better than myself! Should you run Mr. Weston into the ground, perhaps you might keep a mind to Mr. Well-Read. I can imagine the two of you reading and commenting over the work of whatever favored moral tale you would read to each other over a dull fire. Does that not seem a dream?</p><p>Indeed, you have nothing to fear, Miss Grey. I intend to leave this city unmarried. </p><p>With the very best intentions,<br/>Matilda Murray  </p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fullerton, 4 November</p><p>My love,</p><p>I cannot express how much I look forward to your visit at Fullerton for Christmas. Truthfully, I could not sleep the whole night my mother and father deliberated over the scheme. It seems a lifetime since we have been together, although I know it has not been more than a month. I have chosen a novel by which we may entertain ourselves during the evening. It is not quite so horrid as the works of Mrs. Radcliffe, but I believe you will be delighted with it. But I shall keep it a secret so that the mystery shall cultivate your interest!</p><p>I feel it is prudent of me to tell you the dramatic conclusion to my brother James’ romantic tale with Miss Murray. I believe last I wrote, I had mentioned that James was in danger of falling in love with her. This has come to pass, but I regret to report that it is not a source of pleasing news, for a further development has taken place. </p><p>On the evening of 30 October, Miss Murray left Oxford in the company of Mr. Thorpe. Mr. Thorpe left a note to my brother expressing his intention of marrying Miss Murray, and by the morning of the second day, James heard the news that Miss Murray had been given in marriage to Mr. Thorpe in Brighton. You will not be surprised to learn, I am sure, that Mrs. Thorpe was witness to her son’s marriage. </p><p>James rode up to Fullerton following his letter in which he declared his own intention to propose to Miss Murray. I was quite worried about his well-being, as this now marks the second time he has been dealt such a blow, and at the hands of the Thorpes nonetheless. A long conversation with my father seemed to put him right, however. Within the hour, James was pleased to admit that he should have realized the intentions of his friend long ago. I am troubled, however, that James seems more convinced of John Thorpe’s good character more than ever before. He seems to understand the situation as one who has lost fairly to a romantic rival. </p><p>Still, James has rallied himself, and he has got his feet under the rug. He shall not be in low spirits for Christmas. My only hope is that he not meet a third charming young lady before that time. </p><p>I’m sure I’ll not sleep a wink until your visit. There is only one event to which I anticipate more than that. </p><p>Always constant,</p><p>Cathy Moreland</p>
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